Dunnel buttock

I desperately need new dress shirts. The last time I bought shirts for work was about five years ago, and they're starting to get really frayed and worn out. The problem is that I'm built like a Vanderpool, so nothing off the rack is going to fit me right. If I find the correct collar size, the shirt is so tight that I can't button the chest without looking like a pissed off Bruce Banner. If I can find a shirt that fits comfortably in the chest, then my neck floats around in the collar like a swizzle stick in a highball glass. It wasn't that much of a problem when I was in New York, because I didn't have to wear ties to work and could keep the collar open. When I have to wear a tie, though, I come across as a country bumpkin who's more accustomed to wearing overalls than pinstripes.

France is having its semi-annual sales right now; it's one of the only times of the year when all of the stores are legally allowed to discount their merchandise. It's kinda like the weekend after Thanksgiving in the US, so the entire population is flooding the stores trying to buy all the clothes they'll need for the entire year. Since I'm paid in dollars and need to buy a lot of shirts, I figured I'd wait until the sales to make my purchases. Pegs and I went to a number of different retailers today, and everywhere we went it was the same story: crowds of people, cramped conditions, and teeny tiny clothes. I always had trouble finding the right sizes in the US, but here in France, where the average male is about 5'6" and barely breaks a buck and a quarter, I'm Goliath in Italian loafers.

Frustrated, Pegs and I headed home to see if we could find another alternative. A colleague of mine who stands about 6'6" told me not long ago about Dunhill, an English brand that has a couple of stores here in Paris. Apparently, Dunhill has a selection of shirts with different chest and sleeve sizes, so it sounded like it might be a good bet. I was already drained from shopping today, so I thought I would call to see whether they would be open tomorrow. I called the store, and this is what the English portion of the message sounded like:

"Allo. Ou ave riched Dunnel buttock. Hower store eez hopen hevry Mundy srew Frady frum aff pass nine huntil aff pass siven in the heavining. Pliss old ze line."

I appreciate that they wanted to record part of the message in English so their anglophone customers would feel at ease when they call, but you'd think that they would have tried a little harder to find someone who could say the name of the store without it coming out as "Dunnel buttock". I mean, it's "boutique" in either language; what on earth made him decide to pronounce it in a completely different way? It's not like they were recording the message in Swahili; it wouldn't have been hard to find someone on the street who could have done a better job. I ended up calling back about a half-dozen times just to hear if the message said anything else before the guys in the store pick up. I haven't laughed at an accent this hard since that Air France flight we took with the pilot who started every message with "Ladles and German...."

*If you'd like to hear it for yourself and don't mind spending the charge for an international call, dial +33 1 42 61 57 58.